Talking About Booth
by babblefestival
Summary: Brennan's new publicist wants Booth to help with book sales. A friendship fic. Updated: Chapter 11.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: **It's nice when reviews are specific about what works and what doesn't. In this case, I agree. I did think the Boreanz link was cheesy when I wrote it. I have therefore edited it out. This note's here so you can make sense of the first review (which I appreciate... those quotes were my favorite bits too). Thanks!

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**Talking About Booth  
By Babblefestival**

"My god, he looks even better in person." My publicist looked Booth up and down from head to toe. Luckily for me, he was too far away to hear her. Hodgins had trapped him into listening to his latest conspiracy theory. "Temp, honey, if anyone sees him for real, there's no way you'll be able to deny the characters in your books are for real. Look at those shoulders." She took in a decisive breath. "You'd be answering the romance question forever."

"As if they haven't been asking me about that already." Interviews were fast becoming the bane of my life. I gathered my coat and purse from my office. "And no, I'm not going to ask him to come with me," I said, forestalling an old argument. "Selling my books isn't his job."

She placed her manicured hands together as if in prayer. "But think of the possibilities." Her look of calculation began to worry me. Maggie worked public relations with the efficiency of a shark. "Just one little interview together." Her eyes glinted. "He's such good eye candy. We could get you both on Oprah. She'd love him. He wouldn't have to say anything. Maybe sit there and look broody and protective."

"Broody." I often found myself repeating her words out of sheer confusion.

"Book sales would go through the roof."

"It's already number two," I reminded her. Booth always kept track for me.

"Nothing counts but number one." Maggie liked to win. "Would help us ink a TV deal. Think of the residuals."

"I don't need the money."

The flick of her hand dismissed my words. "Who could play him, I wonder." Her eyes took on a faraway look. "Clooney's too old." She snapped her fingers. "Christan Bale. Right intensity for the big screen."

Another set of names to Google when I got home. "I assume these men are both structurally appealing."

"Structurally," Maggie said dryly. "Temp, the man's incredibly sexy."

I'd lost track of which man we were talking about.

"Your partner," she said. "Oodles and oodles of sexiness. He doesn't have to say anything, Temp. A smile once in awhile, that's all. Better still if he directs it at you. He could sit next to you and look heroic. It wouldn't matter if you messed up a question here or there. Just as long as he sat beside you. Your partner. Your rock. Your, your, your something." One hand clawed upward in emphasis. "He could smolder."

"Smolder?" I liked Maggie, but her line of reasoning was sometimes hard to follow.

"God, I'd watch that show. With the right clothes..." She sighed. "Oprah, honey. We're talking about Oprah. Temp, could you please do me a favor? Could you please, please, please buy a TV? With cable. A DVD player too."

"I don't need…"

"Don't you ever get anthropological stuff on DVDs?"

"I watch them here."

She gave a delicate snort. "You live here, Temp. Don't you ever go home?"

I dangled my purse in front of her face. "I'm trying to. It's been a long day. Let it go," I said as Booth joined us.

"Let what go?" He flashed an easy smile.

"An interview she wants me to do," I said, preempting her. A quick, "Bye, Maggie," and I was headed for the door. I'd had enough of publicity for a day.

Booth fell in step as I made my way to the Jeffersonian's main doors. "You going to tell me what that was about?"

"She thinks someone named Christian Bale should play you in a movie," I said, settling for the condensed version. "She said if you sit beside me while I do an interview with Oprah, my book will go to number one."

"Why?"

"Because you have oodles and oodles of sexiness."

He seemed taken aback. "Sexiness?"

"Oodles."

He laughed. "Oodles and oodles," he said. "Get the details right, Bones."

"Congratulations." I didn't know why I had told him.

"About the oodles or the sexiness?"

"Take your pick. She also said you could sit there and smolder."

"What?"

"Like a slow burn."

"I know what 'smolder' means. I get what she means too." Exasperation always made him curt. "What kind of publicist is she?"

"A good one, actually."

"Other than the fact she uses words like oodles."

"She's smarter than she sounds."

"If you say so, Bones," said Booth. "So, Christian Bale's me. Who's you?"

"No one." I pushed through the heavy doors and stood for a moment, enjoying the evening sky. "She was speculating. There is no TV show, there is no movie."

He went down a few steps, turned and studied my face.

"What?" I frowned. He had the singular talent of making me self-conscious.

"It would be tough to cast you," he said at last.

"Why?"

"Because it would be." He waited for me to catch up to him before continuing down the steps.

"That's hardly a rational explanation." I said.

"TV or movie?"

"What?"

"For your books. Which one do you want?"

"TV." I stopped short.

"What?"

"I have to buy a TV."

"A TV." He sounded incredulous. "You?"

"I had one once," I said in irritation.

"You haven't owned a TV in the two years I've known you. I don't think you watched it even when you did have one. So, why now?"

"Maggie says so."

"Since when do you care what Maggie says?"

"Since she taught me interview protocol. It's made things much easier."

"Yeah, I saw the last one. It was pretty good."

"Do you think so?" For some reason, his opinion mattered to me.

"You did good, Bones."

"Thanks." I gave myself a mental kick. "About the TV…"

"Definitely a widescreen," he said. "At least forty-two inches."

"That sounds a little bigger than I had in mind."

"Bigger is always better. You'll need a sound system too. Surround sound." He held his hands apart to indicate stereo. At least, I assumed so. "And a DVD player. You want blue ray?"

"What?"

"Oh, wow. You don't have a clue, do you, Bones?"

I was getting tired of the accusation. "Are you going to help me or not?" Proof once more that Angela was right. I did not know how to ask for help properly. I did not like asking for help period.

"Me?" He pointed a thumb at his chest. "You want me to help you?"

All I could do was nod. I had no interest in wasting time researching something I didn't really want in the first place. It seemed simpler to ask Booth.

He rubbed his hands together in transparent glee. "When?"

"Whenever you have the time."

"This Thursday? I'm picking Parker up on Friday."

I mentally reviewed my schedule. "That'll work for me."

"I'll tell you what, Bones. You measure the space where you want to put the TV and book the cable guy for Wednesday. Get high definition, get the works." He must have sensed my scepticism. "How do you know what you don't want unless you sample all of it first? Think of it as an ongoing exercise in cultural anthropology." He was getting better at imitating squint talk.

"That's not my field, Booth."

"Then it's time to learn." The enthusiasm in his voice was unmistakable. "I'll pick you up after work on Thursday. We'll go get you your TV with all the fixings and go back to your place. If you make me your mac & cheese, I'll set everything up for you. Deal?" He looked unusually happy at the prospect.

"Deal." I suspected I was in for a very expensive shopping trip.

"We'll have to test everything out, of course." He took me by the elbow and guided me to my car. "Setting up the sound properly takes awhile. It's all about balancing the bass and the treble. You'll need a good subwoofer. You'll love it."

"Like the basketball game?" I wasn't entirely clueless.

His smile was pure innocence.


	2. Chapter 2

**Talking About Booth  
****Chapter 2**

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"It's just one little interview." Maggie sent Booth her most winning smile. She settled onto the edge of my desk and blocked my view of the couch. I rolled my chair over to the right. I'd spent fifteen minutes fending her off and it had been a long day. It was Booth's turn now. 

"No," he said without looking up from the folder he was studying. He had propped his feet on the glass coffee table. Photos lay strewn beside him. A pile of folders was festering on the floor nearby. His jacket was folded across the back of the couch. I recognized the signs. He was there for the long haul.

"But it's Oprah." Her earrings jangled as she shook her head. "I can't believe no one gets what that means."

He dropped the folder to the floor and picked up another. "Oprah's not my thing."

"Of course not, honey," Maggie said soothingly. "A man like you probably watches football, basketball. But you have heard of her, right?"

Booth jotted a few notes down.

"You do have a TV, yes?"

"Do I look like a squint?"

"No, no, no. Of course not," said Maggie. I could hear the smile in her voice. She gave him the once over. "You are most definitely a man." Her happy sigh was less than subtle.

"Does that mean Hodgins and Zach aren't?" My intellectual curiosity was piqued. "By implication you are saying that, aren't you?"

The look she gave me said volumes. "Temp, honey." Her earrings jangled again. "There are men and then there are men. Hodgins and Zach are men but Booth, well, he's a man."

"You're using the same terminology to create two different definitions," I said against my better judgment. "You're using inflection of voice to make the differentiation."

Her pink fingernails curled under her palms as she leaned back against them. "Temp. Honey. Do you understand what I mean?"

"Yes."

"If it works, why knock it?"

It was near impossible to win an argument with Maggie. "He can't do the interview," I said. "FBI policy won't let him."

She made a sound of exasperation. "Policy? Honey, if I listened every time someone told me it was against the rules or against whatever, I wouldn't be able to do my job." She zeroed in on Booth once more. "It's Oprah. She wants to meet you. She loves the books. It would be good for sales. And for Temp. Do it for Temp."

I shook my head at him.

"Bones doesn't need my help, Maggie." He rifled through a set of photos. "She's had two bestsellers make number one. This one will too."

"But it'll help her look good," she said. Her sincere tone. "She's great at explaining her work and the premise of her books, but you'd help her seem more…"

"What, Maggie?" The air in the office seemed to shift slightly. His expression was unreadable. "Seem more what?"

She took a deep breath, then another.

He returned to his research. "She's doing fine," was all he said.

I felt like I'd missed something. Typical.

Booth rose from the couch and stretched, moved his head side to side to work out the kinks. "I'm going for coffee. Want some?"

"It'll be strong," I warned him.

He gave me a lazy grin. "Maggie?"

"I'm good, thanks." She seemed herself again. "I have to go soon anyway." She waited until he was gone. "Temp, do you know what you've got there?"

"Sorry?" I had started in on my emails.

Another shake of her head. "Good lord, honey. You really don't know."

I downloaded a PDF file. "Know what?"

"Booth."

"What about him?"

"He's a man."

"I thought we already established that."

Her hand closed over mine and squeezed lightly. "No, honey. Look at him, really look at him. I know you're friends but there could be more, I think." She let go. "If you let him."

Why did everyone always assume I was blind? "You have to stop badgering him," I said. "He's not interested in the fame thing."

"Neither are you."

"I don't think he'd agree to have makeup done either," I said, sidestepping the issue.

"There's makeup?" came Booth's voice from the door. He deposited my coffee on my desk. "Then no way am I doing the interview."

A tactical mistake. "You were thinking about it then," said Maggie with renewed enthusiasm.

Booth winced.

"We need to go over evidence, Maggie." I had reached my limit. "I know the interview's important to you…"

"But there are criminals to catch. I know, I know." She always knew when to stop. "I'll see you later, Temp." A nod. "Booth."

"Maggie."

She gave me a meaningful glance and indicated at Booth with her chin. A final jangle of her earrings and she was gone.

The silence was a relief.

"What was that about?" His gaze tracked Maggie out of the lab.

"What?"

"Bones."

"She said you were a man."

"I like to think so."

"She emphasized the man part."

"Man part?"

I gave him my best exasperated stare. He simply smiled and dropped onto the length of the couch.

"You're sitting on my reports."

"Yeah?"

"I worked hard to write those."

He removed the offending documents and placed them on the table in a chaotic pile."Technically, some of these reports are mine." He tugged on his tie and threw it on top of his jacket. A sigh escaped his lips as he leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. "You need a TV in here."

"I don't watch it at home. Why would I need one here?"

"Is there a cable outlet anywhere?" He wasn't listening.

"In my office?"

"No, Bones. In Hawaii."

I tossed a book at him. "You should read the chapter on the use of sarcasm in communication."

"We could wheel in one of those plasmas from the examination room and hook it up." Classic avoidance.

"There's no game on tonight." It was easier to play along than to ignore him.

"How do you know?"

"Hodgins told me."

"You asked?"

"I'd have to get more cheese."

"It would be better if you had satellite."

"I do. You made me get it, remember?"

"I mean here." He seemed to be enjoying my growing irritation. "There's always a game on somewhere."

"But we have work to do."

"I can multitask."

"There's no point to this discussion," I said with finality. "I don't have cable and I don't have satellite." I opted for a compromise. "You can pick an internet radio station and I can put it over the speakers though."

He laughed. "That's okay, Bones. I'll live. Work it is." He grabbed a folder from the floor. "Your turn to phone in the order."

I chose sushi.

"Would I really have to wear makeup?" The notion seemed to both repel and fascinate him. It was a common male reaction. If asked, I could cite numerous anthropological studies that explained why.

"Cameras make you look flat and sickly." I sat on the floor opposite the couch and spread out my work around me. "They have to put orange makeup on you to give you dimension."

"So all those guys doing the sports commentary…?"

"Orange," I confirmed.

"Not good for smoldering," he said wryly.

"You could still do the brooding part."

"Brooding? I'm supposed to brood while you answer questions?"

"Brood and be protective."

"You never told me that. How does that sell more books?" He waved a hand in the air. "Never mind. Forget I asked. That woman scares me."

"Maggie?"

"No, the queen of England."

"Sarcasm is in chapter four."

He chucked the book wide to my right. It thudded safely away from me against the carpet. "She looks at me as if I'm dinner."

"Well, she does think you're yummy. Her words, not mine," I hastened to add.

"She's too aggressive."

I nodded in understanding. "That would bother you."

"What?"

"You come from a conservative, religious background. Gender roles were traditional in your family. It's natural you'd prefer the same as an adult."

"Wait a minute. I work with you, don't I?"

I had to reread a paragraph. "Yes, but you think of me as a man who just happens to be a woman."

"What?" His feet came off the couch as he whipped upright. "I hate it when women do that."

"Do what?"

"That." His fingers stabbed the air. "What you just did. Use my words against me."

"You admitted it was strange to have a woman partner."

"Back then. That was over a year ago. I'm good now. God, Bones. Sometimes I want to…"

"Want to what?" I said, curious. He looked suddenly out of sorts.

"You sure you gave them the right number?"

"What?"

"The sushi place. You gave them your cell, right?" At my nod, he launched himself from the couch. "I'll go check the doors."

"But no one's phoned yet." It was no use. I was talking to air.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes: **To say I'm surprised by the response to this thing would be an understatement. I wrote it for fun. I'm glad it reads that way. But I don't know how I'm going to finish the story because I never thought beyond the first chapter to begin with. Thanks for all the lovely feedback. Very much appreciated. I have to say though... it's tough to sustain lighthearted banter. Nobody talks like that all the time, not even Brennan and Booth. Plus you have to wonder -- how many different ways can Maggie say Booth is sexy?

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**Talking About Booth  
****Chapter 3**

"I need a warning system," Booth said. We were in the upstairs lounge filling out the latest batch of paperwork. Food containers lay scattered around the table. He picked up one and examined its contents with a pair of chopsticks. "Something to let me know when she's near."

"Who, Maggie?" I signed the last page of the report. "You're not afraid of her, are you, Booth?"

"Afraid?" He stabbed at some unseen morsel and came up with nothing more than a piece of mushroom. "That woman shouldn't be allowed out unsupervised."

"You're threatened by her alpha tendencies."

"What?" He frowned. "No. No, that's not it."

"You're an alpha male," I said as I started in on the evidence form. "Visually, Maggie is female but behaviorally, she presents as an alpha male. The two contradict one another which creates a sense of dissonance."

"Bones." He stabbed the air with his chopsticks. "Now see, Bones, that's the sort of thing you need to stop doing."

"What sort of thing?"

"That thing you do." He dropped the container to the table. The chopsticks rattled as they followed. "I'm not a specimen up for study."

I stared at him as I tried to make the connections.

He took my shrimp. "Stop using anthropology talk."

"But that's what I am," I said. "An anthropologist."

He leaned over the table, his weight on one hand and pointed a prawn at me. His t-shirt shifted as he did so; I couldn't recognize the logo. "See? That's what I mean," he said. "Sometimes I think you do it on purpose."

"Do what on purpose?" I was still trying to define what he had meant by _thing_.

He made a sound remarkably like a growl as he dropped back in his chair and glared at me.

"Good lord, Booth," came Maggie's voice. "That's what I've been talking about. You do sexy so well. Oprah would love it." She stood at the railing and beamed at us. "The only question left is whether he should wear a suit or dress casual." Her gaze swept across his torso and lingered on his arms. "Right now, I'm voting casual."

"How'd you get in here?" Booth did not sound happy. After an array of incidents last year, he had become almost obsessive about security. "The doors are locked and it's after hours."

Her perfume wafted in with her. "Honey, if I can't talk my way past a few guards, I'm not worth my salt as a publicist." Another once over. "Oprah will most definitely love you."

Abruptly, defensively, he folded his arms against his chest. "What part of _no _don't you get?"

She tilted her head to one side considering. "The _no _part." Her regard of him did not waver. "Oh, that's good," she said suddenly. "Now you're glowering."

"That's it." The chair scrapped back as Booth got to his feet. "I'm going downstairs to talk to security. They shouldn't have let her in without a proper pass."

"Booth, honey." She latched one hand onto his arm as he tried to walk past, then tightened her grip with obvious appreciation. "Temp, honey. Have you felt these?"

Without a word, Booth extricated himself from her grasp and left the lounge.

She watched him go. "I would partner with him any day."

"Objectification is wrong regardless of gender," I said.

"I can dream, can't I?" She joined me at the table. "Don't you?"

"Don't I what?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't use that delay tactic on me, Temp. I taught you that."

"I'm not delaying." I was running out of patience. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Me thinks the lady doth protest too much," she murmured.

"How can I protest about something when I don't know what we're talking about?" I started gathering the cardboard remnants of our dinner.

"Temp, this is me you're talking to. You can't tell me you haven't noticed how the man looks?"

"For a publicist, you sound remarkably like a matchmaker," I said. "In certain societies, matchmakers serve a valuable function and work from numerous variables of compatibility."

"Good lord, Temperance," Maggie said. "Give the anthropological mumbo jumbo a rest and speak English. Have you or have you not noticed that Booth's one sexy man?"

"The connotation of sexiness depends on individual perspective." I dodged her question with an ease that came from practice.

"Okay, okay," she said. "We'll play it your way. But it doesn't change the fact that he positively simmers when he's around you."

"Maggie."

"Fine. He's your partner and friend. Got it." She gave me a sideways glance. "But denial's not just a river in Egypt, you know."

"Maggie, writing's not my only job."

"Yes, yes, yes. You solve crimes too." She pulled an envelope from her purse and laid it on the table. "I could've couriered it over, but why waste the opportunity?"

"What is it?"

"Tickets," she said with satisfaction. "Two to be precise. Plane tickets to New York, hotel reservations, meals. All paid."

"For?"

"We'll start easy. McLean is a good interviewer. With commercials, ten minutes of talking tops. You've been already and I know you liked him. He certainly likes you. He'd treat Booth right."

"No, Maggie."

"Booth was the one who talked you into going in the first place, remember?"

"I said no." Her badgering had gone far enough. "No interview for Booth. I'll go solo or not at all."

"It's already paid for."

"He's not doing the interview."

She shook her head. "Temp, honey. You're not getting it. Everything's paid for. The plane tickets are in your names. I've done everything I can to convince you and him that you should do an interview together. I think it would be dynamite for your book sales and for your rep. But if not, are you really going to let the extra ticket go to waste?"

I was still pondering the question when Booth returned.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Notes: **Not exactly lighthearted banter, but it's what came out of the keyboard and that's how I write these things.

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**Talking About Booth  
Chapter 4**

I didn't know when our morning meetings had become routine, but the Royal Diner felt like home. Outside the window, the traffic was beginning to build up into its usual snarl, a sentiment echoed inside by Booth.

"What's wrong with this picture?" He held his open cell phone towards me. I had to lean over my plate to get a good view of the photo.

His son was standing on a field framed by blue sky. "I don't see anything," I ventured finally. "But he has your phenotype."

He frowned.

"He looks like you," I explained.

"So why did he join a soccer team?" He stared at the tiny screen.

"I don't see what link there is between his appearance and his choice of activity."

"Football." He closed the phone with a practiced flick of his hand. "He should be playing football. Who plays soccer?"

"Your son, evidently." I decided to stick to the facts at hand. "Soccer is a well-respected sport worldwide. The most popular in terms of viewing audience and participation."

"Not here, Bones. That's what counts."

"That's a completely ethnocentric perspective."

He slid his cup towards the waitress for a refill. "I bet I have more stamps in my passport than you do."

"Where to?" My curiosity took over before I could think.

His cup paused on its way to his mouth. "Do you really want to know?"

I sprinkled more pepper on my eggs and the moment passed.

"He doesn't have the body of a soccer player." Equamity recovered, Booth resumed his attack of his breakfast.

"He's four," I couldn't help pointing out.

"I looked like him at his age and look how I turned out."

I gave him a clinical once over. "I think some of your physique is due to the workouts you do. Broad shoulders, yes, but helped along by your time in the weight room."

His dark humor seemed to ease somewhat. "Impresses Maggie. Anything else?"

"I've seen you run, Booth. If Parker's anything like you, he'll cover the soccer field without any problem." I studied his torso. "You don't have a body builder's frame and I doubt your son will either."

"Which means he can play football. I don't know what Rebecca's thinking. Maybe it's her boyfriend's idea."

I stifled a sigh. Being a weekend father was taking its toll on Booth. Monday mornings were never a happy affair. "Take off your jacket and hold out your arms," I instructed.

His gaze never left my face as he complied.

I reached out and ran my hands lightly over his shirt sleeves.

"And the verdict is?" His fingers gently cupped my arms as I considered the state of his muscles. Warmth radiated through the fabric.

"You have a high muscle to bone ratio," I said before my sense of scientific inquiry faltered. I released him and drew back. "Typical of athletes. Your son could probably play both sports comfortably. His muscle definition, however, will depend on the training regimen he embarks on." I returned my attention to my meal.

"Football," he insisted as he mirrored my actions. "There's no future in soccer." His pancakes disappeared in record time.

"Maybe when his bone growth has stabilized," I suggested. "Soccer is excellent for cardiophysical development and muscular coordination."

A knock on the window startled us both.

"God," muttered Booth as Maggie fluttered a hand in greeting. "Maybe a GPS locator. What is she, a bloodhound?" I heard the door open behind me.

"Temp," Maggie's voice called out. She swept into the chair beside Booth.

"Maggie," he said as he worked his coffee.

"Booth," she acknowledged. "Nice belt buckle. Very big."

He shifted around in his chair to make eye contact. "You finished?"

She gave him a slow smile and leaned in. Sniffed delicately. "Booth. Honey." She pulled back. "You smell positively divine. Love the cologne."

I drew a sharp breath as he kicked my shin.

"Temp, honey, what's wrong?" Maggie reached across the table. "You okay?"

"What are you doing here?" The pain was subsiding.

"Oh, that." She waved a hand in a vague gesture. "Hodgins told me you'd be here."

"He's a valuable member of my team," I emphasized, immediately sensing the danger. "I couldn't do without him."

"Oh, I don't know, Bones." Booth drained the last of his coffee and set the cup back on the saucer. "He's not the only bug and slime man in town."

"Don't be angry at Jack," said Maggie. "I had to be sure Temp told you."

"Told me what?" He watched her like a hawk.

"About the tickets to New York. Temp, honey, you did tell him?" Her sigh was dramatic. "Of course you didn't." She gestured our waitress over. "I booked an interview with McLean for the two of you. Gave Temp the tickets and everything. All paid for." She glanced up. "Decaf coffee, dear." Beside her, Booth indicated he was ready for the bill.

"You leaving already?" Maggie placed a hand on Booth's arm as he stood.

He lifted her wrist and dropped it away from him. I saw her wince. "Maggie," he said quietly. "You're a good publicist. Bones has aced every interview since you came along."

"Booth, honey..." He stopped her with a look.

"She trusts your judgement when it comes to publicity and you haven't steered her wrong." He dropped some bills on the table. "So far."

I gathered my things together. It was never a good idea to step between two alphas.

"I'm good at what I do," said Maggie. "But I don't see what that has to do with..."

"Back off."

"From helping Temp?" Her voice was sharp.

"No," said Booth. "From me." He lifted his jacket from his chair. "Let's go, Bones."

I could feel his hand against my back as I made my way to the door. "I'm sorry, Booth," I said when we got outside. The confrontation had been inevitable.

"Not your fault," he said. He shrugged into his jacket and fished for his keys. "You should've told me about the tickets. Do you want me to do the interview with you?"

"What?"

"The interview," he said, leading the way back to the SUV. "Me, you. Yes or no?"

"Isn't it against FBI policy?"

"Yeah, but it's McLean. Boss likes him. He's done some good work on veterans and on the war."

"Which one?"

"All of them." He paused before getting in. "I had a buddy check into him. He's a good guy, Bones. He gets it."

"So you'll do the interview with me," I said before I realized. "Wait, you checked up on him?"

"If it's okay with the boss." My question didn't seem to register. He put his sunglasses on. "But if not, I wouldn't mind a free trip to New York."

I wished I was better at reading people.

"Bones?"

"Okay," I said at last.

"To the interview or the trip?"

"Both," I said, then shrugged. "Why don't you come with me and make up your mind about the interview when you get there?"

His grin was boyish. "Ever been to a baseball game, Bones?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Talking About Booth  
Chapter 5**

"Change of plans," announced Maggie. "McLean's doing a special run of interviews out of LA." She planted one hip on my desk and swiveled to check my reaction.

"No." A trip to the west coast always involved more than she let on. I signed off on a facial recreation and handed the paperwork back to Angela who stood waiting. "We need this set up within the hour."

Angela sank into the chair opposite me instead. "No problem."

"Within the hour," I emphasized.

"Right." Her gaze flicked to Maggie, to me, then back again.

"Angela." I didn't need an audience.

"Brennan." She didn't budge.

"LA," Maggie repeated. "Some producers have a few ideas to kick around with you." She twisted one of the skulls on my desk. "I've scheduled in a few meetings with them. A TV show would be great exposure for your books. Look at what movies have done for Rowling."

"Who?" I moved the skull out of her reach.

"Author of a series of children's novels," explained Angela. "A film per novel. All wildly successful. She's rich beyond imagination."

"Which is where you need to be," said Maggie. She looked around my office. "Temp, honey, you need a decorator to redo this place. It's too depressing. All these bones."

"Rich for me or rich for you?" I respected my publicist's ambitions but preferred not to let them rule my own. "I'm comfortable with what I've got. And isn't this short notice?"

"LA?" Maggie laughed. "Honey, ratings rule everything on TV. McLean's no different from the rest. He can't do serious work without pandering to the network from time to time. Viewers tune in for the juicy tidbits. Or the gory ones, in your case. If they say LA, then that's where he has to go. Believe me, he's not happy about it." She handed me an envelope. "Same deal as for New York. Two of everything for you and Booth."

I suppressed a sigh. "Maggie..."

"I know, I know." Her hand waved in exaggerated circles. Amber polish this time. "Whether or not he does the interview, it's up to him. But you never know. And while you're there, have fun. You'll have some down time." She glanced at Angela. "She does know how to have fun, right?"

"As in beach and shopping?" Angela's face crinkled in doubt. "Her last vacation involved a mass grave site in a politically unstable country."

Their combined scrutiny made me want to squirm. "Booth's not coming with me," I said instead.

Maggie rose with studied indifference. "Okay, then," she said. "But I made all those restaurant reservations for two. All the in places. Had to call in a lot of favors to get you past the lines. You telling me I did all that for nothing?"

Her departures always left me disoriented.

"Booth's agreed to do an interview with you?" Angela's eyes were bright with curiosity. "Really?"

I busied myself at my computer. "No, he's not." I heard her take Maggie's place on the edge of my desk. "Angela, I need to see that composite in 3D."

"It'll be ready. So he's going with you."

"No."

"But he told me he was." Angela gave me a knowing look.

"That was New York."

"LA, New York. I don't see what difference that'll make. If Booth said he'll go to one, he'll go to the other. Brennan, you've got to pack something sexy."

I made a face. "It's not that kind of a trip. Besides, we travel lots together. What's the big deal about this one?"

"Because," she said with emphasis. "This one's not about dead bodies. It's about live ones." Her grin worried me. "You and Booth, Brennan. That's hot."

"You've been hanging around Hodgins too long."

"He's hot too." She waggled her eyebrows at me. "We did it an hour ago."

I couldn't help laughing. "Thanks for that." I shook my head. "I wish Maggie would stop with the guilt trips."

"Maggie's growing on me," she said.

"I thought you said she was overbearing and too in your face."

Angela tapped the envelope. "She's done something I've never been able to. Get you two together somewhere that doesn't involve murder, mayhem or gore."

"You're a hopeless romantic."

"I admit the romantic part. Come on, Brennan. It's okay to say you're attracted to Booth. I mean, who wouldn't be? He's sexy as hell. Why can't you say that?"

"Because he's my partner."

"You're not FBI."

"Because he's Booth," I heard myself confess. We stared at one another.

A knock came at the doorway. "Am I interrupting something?" I caught the flash of Booth's red tie before I turned back to my computer.

"Oh, no," said Angela, her tone breezy. She stood and looked down at me. "It's okay to have fun, sweetie. Go lie on the beach. Swim in the ocean. Relax. Enjoy." She paused beside Booth on her way out. "She's not FBI, you know."

He watched her go. "What was that about?"

"Nothing." No new messages. "What do you want?"

He dropped into the chair. "Hello to you too, Bones. No coffee this morning?"

"Trying to get some work done."

"Let me guess. Maggie was here."

"Good guess."

"That's why they pay me the big bucks. You going on vacation?" His voice was casual.

"Vacation?"

"You know, Bones. Beach, ocean? Whatever Angela was talking about."

"Oh, that." I hesitated. "The interview's been switched to LA."

"LA?" He blew a breath out between his lips. "Ratings. Must drive McLean nuts."

"You don't have to come."

His eyes narrowed. "I said I would."

"To New York."

"To wherever. I said I would and I will. Besides, this time I get to drive the rental. You owe me."

"What do you mean? If anything, you owe me. You never let me drive."

"Yeah, I do."

"Okay, _usually _you don't let me drive," I amended.

"You can't think and drive at the same time."

"You do." I didn't know whether to be outraged or amused.

"I posit a situation," he said. "That's different. You, you're the brains of this operation. You do the major thinking."

"And you don't? Never?"

"Bones, you know what I mean."

"No, I don't."

"Stop," he said.

"Stop what?"

"That." He held up a finger to ward off further discussion. "Bones..."

I counted silently and slowly to ten. "Booth, I'm trying to work. Unless there's a reason..."

"There's a body." He stood. "Coming?"

I locked my computer. "Of course, I am. But you knew that. Otherwise, why bother showing up?"

He let me lead the way out. "I'm going to LA with you Bones."

"To do the interview?" Angela's words had left me uncertain.

"Boss says it's a go," he said. "And I've got a few days owing to me."

Angela leaned over the railing as we passed the examination platform. "Don't forget to take a bikini, sweetie."

"It's an interview, Ange," I called back over my shoulder.

"Beach," she yelled as the glass doors slid shut behind us.

"Good advice," Booth said.

"But I hate the beach."

"What are you, the anti-fun patrol?"

"I don't see the point of lying on sand, exposing yourself to harmful radiation and doing absolutely nothing."

"But that is the point, Bones. Doing nothing."

I gave the matter some thought. "I suppose I could catch up on my reading," I said finally as we emerged onto the front steps.

"That's the spirit," he said as he led the way to where he was parked. "A trashy novel, a good mystery, something easy on the brain."

"Actually, I was thinking of a few journal articles I needed to read."

He groaned. "We're going to have to work on your concept of fun."

"I have fun," I protested as we got to his SUV.

He put on his sunglasses. "Bones, I swear to God that one day..."

"You always say that."

"God, Bones. Do you know how irritating you can be?"

"Then why are we still partners?"

He sighed. "Get in the car, Bones."

So I did.


	6. Chapter 6

**Talking About Booth  
Chapter 6**

"There." Booth pointed at the skeleton at the base of the tree. "Go do your thing."

"Context?" I had already snapped on my gloves. The bent blades of grass told me the area had been trampled and the crime scene compromised.

"Kids riding technical through found the remains." He nodded towards the group of teenagers gawking over the yellow tape. "This is federal land."

"They shouldn't be here at all."

He shrugged. "They're teenagers. It's not like this is a munitions testing ground."

"They've ruined my crime scene," I said.

"Well, I'm not going to shoot them for that."

I started to take photos. "Did they move anything?"

"They say they didn't," he replied. "But you know, teenagers. If you don't need me for anything..."

"I don't."

"Where's Zach?"

"Editing a paper," I said. I studied the pelvic bone. "His first."

"First?"

I gently brushed the organic detritus out of the way. Loose and recent. I frowned. "The first time his name will lead on a publication."

"I'm guessing that's a big deal." He crouched down beside me. "What's wrong?"

"This can't be the original site. Soil color's wrong, for one thing." I pursed my lips in thought.

"Bones?"

"Shouldn't you go do your thing?" I needed some time to think.

He glanced at the waiting teens. "Right." I heard him get to his feet and ward off the local officer. "Don't bother her. She's doing her thing."

"She any good?" The officer sounded dubious. Women in my line of work were still a rarity.

"Oh, yeah," said Booth. "Bones?"

I never understood his need to show off my expertise. "Adult male," I said, humoring him. "Mid-thirties. He broke his right leg as a child and his left arm as an adult, probably in his twenties. "

"But she hasn't even touched anything yet." The officer's disbelief was unmistakable.

"I know," said Booth. "Why do you think I work with her?" I saw the boys nudge one another as he made his way over to them. The steady rise and fall of their voices soothed me as I catalogued the state of the remains.

"She's really pretty," I heard one boy say. "Is she your girlfriend?" His voice squawked mid-question.

"She's my partner," replied Booth. "Any of you have a girlfriend?"

Nervous laughter. "Yeah," said the same boy. "She doesn't bike though. Not on mud anyway."

"But you guys come out here regularly, right?"

"Yeah. Everyday after school practically."

"Must know this place like the back of your hand."

"Yeah."

"Better than playing videos inside," said Booth.

More laughter. This time incredulous. "You kidding? Online, I'm master," said the boy. "I always get all the weapons."

Booth shook his head. "I can never make it past the first couple of levels."

The boy leaned over the handles of his bike. "Man, you need to explore them all first. You gotta know the terrain like a pro before you can ascend to the next stage."

"Like riding the trails. This your favorite spot?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"You ever see anything down this way before?"

"Not yesterday. Right, guys?" I heard a succession of murmured agreement.

"First time you saw the skeleton..."

"Almost did a header over my handlebars."

"You got off your bikes and checked it out." Booth seemed unconcerned.

"Yeah." A sheepish tone. "Sorry about that. Wow, this is just like CSI. They hate it when people mess up the crime scene. Love that show. Do you think we'll be interviewed?"

"Interviewed?"

"By reporters."

"See any around?"

"No," said the boy.

"Then I guess no interview." Silence. "Sorry," said Booth.

"Yeah. It would've been fun. I thought for sure there'd be tons around. It's a body, man. And we found it! Doesn't that make us heros or something?"

"What makes you think it's a crime scene?"

"What?" The boy's voice cracked again.

"Wait here," said Booth. His footsteps warned me of his approach. "Bones, about those remains..."

"It's not," I said.

"Not a victim?" He didn't sound surprised.

I pulled my gloves off as I stood. "More like a volunteer. This is a medical model, probably someone who donated his body to research. Bones have been stripped and cleaned properly, complete with holes for assembly."

"Go figure." He glanced back at the boys.

"You think they had something to do with it? A prank of some kind?"

"Why were they here in the first place?" He scanned the terrain. "Not steep enough, not challenging enough. They know the area. No reason to waste time here."

"How do you know?"

"Their bikes. With those forks and those seats? No way they'd be wasting time here. And we shouldn't be either."

"What are you going to do?"

"I'll take care of it, Bones. Meet you back at the car."

"Booth, what are you going to do?"

"Something appropriate." A sideways glance. "Don't worry, Bones. A little scare won't hurt them."

"You do remember we have a plane to catch."

"McLean, LA, beach," he recited as he headed back towards the boys.

"I told you I hate the beach," I murmured.

"Hey, Bones." He paused midway. "Catch." My hand stung as I caught his keys.

I stared at them with some degree of puzzlement.

"Your turn to drive," he said.

"We have turns?"

"We do now."


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Notes: **Well, at least they're in LA. Finally.

* * *

**Talking About Booth  
Chapter 7**

"I thought you were kidding," said Booth. He sank as low as his seatbelt would allow him. His sunglasses appeared in danger of sliding off his nose.

"About what?" I was driving for the second time today. A new record in our partnership. The summer air breezed against my skin. I had taken the precaution of tying my hair back before leaving the rental agency.

He patted his side of the convertible. "It's a great car, Bones," he said. "Good choice."

"What choice? You made me rent it." And he had. Seen the car, planted both palms on the hood and had actually kissed the shiny surface, then buffed it clean with his t-shirt afterwards. I knew he liked cars, but it was a side to him I hadn't seen before.

"You were going for the sedan," he said. "A sedan. You can't drive a sedan in LA."

"It was a BMW."

"Beemer, Bones." He seemed to enjoy his role as my cultural consultant. After two years, I didn't have the heart to tell him I usually understood more than I let on. "Although a Roadster would've been good."

"They didn't have any. Besides, you said you wanted to marry this one." I hoped I was going the right way.

"I do."

"You also said you'd marry my mac and cheese."

"Yeah," he said with a smile of remembrance. "Your mac and cheese is something else."

"You know, like most males of the species, you're quite fickle."

"What?" He turned his head and glared at me. At least, I presumed he glared. It was difficult to tell with his new sunglasses.

"Don't worry, Booth," I said to reassure him. "You can't help it." I was happy to see a familiar landmark. "It has something to do with your reproductive impulses."

"My what?" He adjusted his sunglasses upward. "My impulses are just fine, thanks."

"Nervous?"

"About what?" He sounded annoyed.

"You keep pressing your foot against the floor of the car."

"You're supposed to be watching the road." He swept his hand forward to emphasize his point.

"I am. But it's hard to miss, you pressing the floor like that." I shot him a quick look. "I know what it is. It's because you're not in control."

Alarm crossed his face. "Hey, hey, the road."

I had done nothing he hadn't done before in the driver's seat. "That's what I mean."

His sigh was one of long suffering. "Okay, Bones. You're right. But it's because I'm not used to being the passenger. I've been driving for the whole two years we've been partners. You can't just give it up like that." He snapped his fingers as he spoke, then held a warning finger up at me. "And don't start with the alpha dominance hunting instinct mumbo jumbo you usually spout at me."

I opened my mouth to reply.

"And don't tell me what I'm saying only confirms what you're saying." I could tell he was truly irritated.

I allowed him three city blocks of silence before speaking again. "I was going to ask whether you wanted to eat in the hotel restaurant or go to that fancy one Maggie booked for us."

"Really?"

I frowned at his surprise. "What?"

"You're actually thinking of doing something Maggie didn't plan for you?"

"You make it sound like she's running my life." It was my turn to get irritated.

He held up both hands as if to ward off Maggie's presence. "Whoa, Bones. Don't take it the wrong way, but you have to admit you've always gone along with all her ideas."

"So have you," I said. "You're here, aren't you?"

He gazed up at the palm trees as we passed under them. "If you say so, Bones."

"You're not here?"

"I'm here because I want to be. You're here because Maggie told you to be. _Big_ difference."

"I don't see it." I really didn't.

"Yeah, Bones. I know."

"She's good at what she does."

"Boss people around?"

"I go along with her scheduling because, so far, it's coincided with mine."

"How many times has she ignored you telling her what you can and cannot do?"

He was right on that particular count. I had wondered about that myself.

"For someone so assertive, you don't stand up to her like you do with everyone else." He was watching out his side at the neighborhoods as they flashed by.

"You know I hate psychology, Booth."

"Yeah, Bones. Sorry about that." But he didn't sound it.

At the next red light, I punched a few buttons in preparation for the highway. The tiny screen lit up and a map appeared, orienting to our current location. I had taken the time to preprogram a few routes into it before leaving the airport.

"I thought you were kidding," Booth said. His head lolled back against the neck rest. "I really did."

"I don't want to get lost on the way to the hotel."

"I thought you said you know LA."

"It's been awhile. Since I've driven it, I mean."

"Turn left and go forward half a mile, then take the next right exit to the highway," intoned the GPS device in a male voice.

Booth groaned. "See, Bones. That's what I'm talking about. Did you really have to get that?"

"All the top line rentals come with it," I said as I turned left.

"I know," he said. "I was there when the guy told you, remember?"

"Next right, baby," said the device, the voice and accent familiar despite the electronic rendering.

"You've got to be kidding," said Booth. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyelids, a sure sign of his dismay. "Bones, turn it off."

"No," I said. I was enjoying myself. "I don't want to get lost."

"I get that. I do," said Booth. "But him? You had to get him?"

"Turn right now," said the device. "Proceed for the next five miles." The screen showed the progress of the car as a blue dot on red lines. When I reached the highway, the device beeped once with apparent satisfaction. "I'll be back," it promised.

"Arnie. I can't believe you got Arnie." said Booth. He hid behind his sunglasses once more. "You've got to be kidding me."

With a smile, I turned the volume up.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Notes: **I'm stretching a bit with this one, but I think they're still in character. Let me know if you think not.

* * *

**Talking About Booth  
Chapter 8**

Booth stood in the middle of the hotel suite. "I can't believe her," he said. "One room."

"A suite, actually," I said, pointing out the obvious.

"You know what I mean," he said.

I ventured to one of the guilded doors. Maggie had picked an ornate, overblown and expensive hotel. A king-sized bed lay beyond. An abundance of silk and feathered pillows lay piled on top. French doors covered in delicate tuile led to the roof top patio. "There's a bathroom." The tub was huge and sculptural. "I think all the rooms open onto the same deck." The scent of the ocean was unmistakable.

"I'm guessing the other bedroom's on this side." Booth jabbed a thumb to the opposite wall. "If it's anything like the ones I've seen." I could see anger simmering. Manipulation did not sit well with him. "There better be a second bedroom."

I crossed the living space and checked his theory. "Same setup here," I said.

He took an explosive breath. "Maggie." He grabbed his travel bag and dumped it into the second bedroom. "You have to do something about her, Bones. She's out of control. This..." He gestured at the suite.

"I know," I said, depositing my own bag into the other room.

"Do you?"

"I know, Booth. I'm not blind. I've always known." A sigh. "I just didn't want to get into a confrontation."

"Since when do you back off from one?"

"Well, there's the problem of my reputation in the publishing world." I opened the bar fridge and took out a bottle of water. Booth shook his head when I held it out to him. He seated himself gingerly on one of the two couches.

"What rep?" He shoved pillows onto the floor to free up more space.

I took a long sip of water. "Well, my first publicist was murdered." I sat on the couch opposite. "Overrun by fire ants."

"Hard to forget that." He dispatched the final pillow with obvious satisfaction. Purple silk and gold tassels flew across the room into the far corner.

"Neither has anyone else. Do you know how hard it's been for my publisher to get me another one?" My dehydrated state surprised me. Driving a convertible required greater caution than I thought. "Do you know what Maggie's professional nick name is?"

"I don't know if I want to know." The vases and Venetian mirrored end tables had caught his attention. He appeared fascinated by all the breakables in the room.

"Maggie the Unsinkable."

"Yeah," he said, "I can see that. So you don't want to scare her off. Might be hard to find someone to take her place."

"There is no one else," I said simply. "My publisher begged me, begged me, Booth, not to drive her away."

"You could stop writing," he said. "You have enough money."

"You could stop fixing up old cars," I said.

"That's a hobby."

"Mine happens to pay well." I frowned at him. "What difference does that make?"

He leaned forward and planted his elbows on his knees. "You have a point there, Bones."

"I can't juggle it all without a publicist, Booth. But Maggie, she doesn't respond well to requests."

He grunted. "She doesn't respond period. What Maggie wants, Maggie goes for."

"That's what makes her a great publicist."

"I'd hate to date her. She has the subtlety of a bull."

"She's an alpha, remember." For all her bluster, I liked Maggie.

"Which makes her boss." He looked up. "She's the boss of you, Bones. You okay with that?"

"No." I had no desire to attend the additional meetings she had arranged for me. "But I'm not good with people, Booth. You know that."

"See, that's your mistake right there."

"What?"

"You need to go anthropological on her, Bones." He stretched back and laced his fingers behind his head. "Out alpha the alpha."

I blinked. "Like you did at the diner," I said finally, excitment growing. I leaned forward and braced myself with both hands against the edge of the couch. "When you almost hit her."

"What? I don't hit women, Bones." He pursed his lips in thought. "Unless they hit me first," he amended. "Especially if they have a weapon. And they're about to kill me." He looked up at the ceiling. "Then I'd hit them."

"Okay, you didn't hit her," I said. "But you used your body to intimidate, the way you do when you question suspects."

"The FBI is not allowed to intimidate suspects, Bones." I could see he was getting annoyed again. "I like to stand sometimes when I ask questions, that's all."

"My publisher won't be happy if she leaves."

"Don't worry. You'll think of something." He rubbed his hands together. "We're in LA, Bones. What do you want to do first?"

"I hear the museum's pretty good," I said deliberately.

He rolled his eyes and glanced upward. "What am I going to do with her?"

"Are you talking to God?" His religious beliefs fascinated me.

"Bones." He retrieved a pillow and threw it at me. "Beach. Let's go to the beach and get a beer." He came over and pulled me to my feet. "Come on, Bones. Baby steps. First we sit beside the beach and then later, maybe, just maybe, we can go sit on it."

"Overexposure to the sun isn't a good idea, Booth," I said in protest as he hauled me towards the entry doors.

He snagged a bottle of sunscreen as we passed the complimentary welcome basket. "Knock yourself out," he said tossing it sideways.

"Booth."

"Bones." He released me at the elevator and pressed the down button. "I listened to Arnie all the way here. The least you can do is join me for a beer."

It seemed a fair compromise.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Notes: **I type, they talk. I don't always control the conversation.

**

* * *

****Talking About Booth  
Chapter 9**

The evening air breezed through the palm trees and over the restaurant's second floor patio. A white passenger ship cruised along the horizon. The ocean was in a relative state of calm, ideal for the sunbathers crowding the sand in various states of undress. Booth pushed his sunglasses up past his forehead and grinned at me. "Now this is more like it." He tasted his beer. "Oh, yeah." He studied the way the light filtered through the beverage. "You can't tell me you'd rather be inside, Bones. Sand, sun, beer," he said. "Good company." He tipped his head my way.

"We're not on the beach, Booth," I couldn't resist pointing out. "We're not even at the beach. We're across the street from it."

"Bones, get into the spirit of things, will you?" A deep breath. "Smell that air. Let it go. We're not on a case. We're relaxing."

I ran a finger along the surface of my glass. It was sweating profusely with condensation. "Reminds me of Africa. They have some nice beaches."

He squinted at me. "Yeah? It's a big continent, Bones. Where abouts?"

"Somalia, for one," I said, thinking of its untapped coastal beauty.

"If you can ignore the civil wars."

"You've been there?" I saw his face and looked away. "Never mind." Sometimes I pushed him too far.

"Only you would connect here with there, Bones. There's no comparison." A quick flick of his finger brought his sunglasses back onto his face. "Besides, you can't swim there."

I had forgotten about the sharks.

"Bones, you're not like anyone I know," he said a few minutes later.

"What do you mean?"

"You go to Somalia to do your thing. Okay, first of all, I don't know any women who can say what you just said."

"Say what?"

"About Africa."

"Lots of people go to Africa." I had not meant to trigger bad memories.

"But not to Somalia." He worked his beer for a bit. "Look, I know what you're talking about. You go to these places no one's ever heard of. You see terrible things, things no one will ever get, so there's no point talking about it." More beer. "They just want to hear about the gore anyway. Like in your books."

"Booth..."

"I've seen those beaches. You're right, they're amazing. But you're the only person I know who can keep those things separate in your head."

"Angela says I compartmentalize too much." I didn't know how to fix my mistake.

"Yeah, you do," he said. "You got to remember though, Bones, not everybody does."

I didn't know what to say.

"I get it, Bones. But sometimes, it's too much. Okay?" Our meals arrived before he could continue. It took a steak and a second beer to bring back his good humor. "Diving," he said out of the blue. "You up for some diving?" He had already demolished half his meat. "We could rent some gear, check out the fish."

"You dive?" I hadn't realized.

"Yeah, a little." He set his sunglasses aside on the table. "We should find out where the good spots are."

"The interview's tomorrow," I said.

"Evening," he said. "We have the whole day."

"Don't forget about the drive."

"Right. More Arnie." He grimaced and resumed his attack on his steak. "Early start?" At my nod, he grinned. It was a welcome sight. "Leave it to me," he said. "I know a guy."

"You know a guy? Is he qualified?"

My question seemed to amuse him. "Oh, yeah, Bones. He's qualified. He'll help us get set up."

"How early?"

"No late night partying for you," he said.

"Or you." I slid the keys across the table.

"What's that?"

"The keys," I said helpfully.

"I can see that," he said with a touch of annoyance. "But what for?"

"Your turn to drive."

"Back to the hotel? Very generous of you, Bones." The keys jangled as he gave them a single shake.

"No," I said. "For the rest of the trip."

He frowned at me.

I shrugged. "I guess I'm too used to being on the other side." I gave him a look. "Apparently, I do a lot of thinking."

He stared at the keys in his hands. "Is this an apology?"

"I'm not good at those."

His smile was sudden and warm. "Yeah, Bones, you are." He put the keys away. "You know what this means, don't you, Bones?"

"You get to drive?"

He ignored me. "You'll be at the beach. Standing on actual sand."

"I know what sand is."

"There'll be sun." He grinned. "Good thing I got you that sun screen."

"I have a hat," I said.

He groaned. "No hats, Bones. It's the beach. It's California. Hats are for my grandmother."

"You said I was her."

"When?" He waved a fork in a brief circle. "Never mind. Doesn't mean you have to dress like her."

"Booth, I'm talking about a hat."

"You know, I hate that."

He had lost me. "Hate what?"

"Do you take notes or something? Where do you get this stuff from?"

"Booth..."

"How do you always remember what I say?"

"It's easy," I said. "You say things. I listen."

"Bones..." He seemed torn. "You really are something else."

I mulled his words over. "Thank you," I said at last. "As are you."

This time, the silence lasted comfortably until dessert.


	10. Chapter 10

**Talking About Booth  
Chapter 10**

Seagulls tested the air currents above the cliffs. I watched one float on an updraft until it disappeared from view. Shielding my eyes with one hand, I watched as wave after wave broke against the crescent beach. There was only one person standing on the sand below us, obviously surrounded by gear. He waved and I lifted my hand in reply.

Booth hauled the cooler from the trunk of the car to the edge of the cliff. He had already secured the lid with nylon webbing.

"You're going to carry that down there?" Paths were non-existent in the cliff face. I understood now why he had insisted on stopping at the outdoor store.

"I'm not that crazy," he said as he searched among the dry grasses. "Here it is," he said, kneeling. He pushed the plant life aside to reveal a set of climbing ropes and pulleys already secured with anchors. "You think Buster carried all that stuff down on his back?" He attached the cooler with carabiners and pulled on a set of belay gloves.

"Buster? Your guy is called Buster?"

He started to lower our supplies over the edge. "Well, not exactly. It's more of a nickname than anything else. Maybe you should stick to Eddie."

"His name is Eddie."

"That's not really his name," Booth said. "But it's what he goes by." He let the rope out one hand at a time. "Just don't ask him what his real name is."

"Why not?"

"He's a little sensitive about it." He cast a quick look my way. "Really, Bones. Don't ask."

"Can't I call him by his nickname?"

"No." Slack was building in his hands and he peered over the edge to check on the cooler. Satisfied, he hid the belay system in the grasses once more. "Just don't go there." He retrieved two sets of climbing gear from the car and handed me a pair of rock shoes.

"Where did you get these?" They were the same as the ones I had at home. My size. "Booth?"

He grinned. "I told you. I know a guy. Where do you think all this came from?"

"Buster did this? In one night?"

"Eddie to you," he said firmly. "Look, Bones. Buster and me, we go back a ways. It's weird to hear you call him that. Stick to Eddie, okay?"

"Eddie."

"Yeah."

I opened the car door and sat against the seat as I adjusted the lace tension. "How did you know I climbed?"

"The way you put your harness on when we went down into those tunnels. Do you know how much paperwork I had to do because you shot those rats?"

I remembered the case in question. "They were destroying my crime scene."

"That's another thing, Bones. They're my crime scenes too." He handed me a helmet.

"I thought we were going scuba diving," I said dryly as a set of gloves and a harness followed.

"We are," he said, donning his own gear. "But we have to do a little light climbing to get there. There's a reason this place isn't crawling with people. Too much work to have a little fun."

I adjusted the straps of my helmet until it felt snug. "Climbing's fun," I said.

His grin was unabashedly happy. "Yeah, I thought you'd say that. Want to go first?"

"Don't rangers lead the way?"

His surprise lasted only a second. "Yeah, Bones, we do." He led the way to an anchor mounted permanently into the rock with bolts. "You'll have to take a couple of steps down before rappeling." He ran the cordage through the ring and prepared to go over the edge. "Watch the first step," he said. He looked over his shoulder. "It's a doozy."

The transition between firm footing and suspension gave me a familiar jolt of adrenalin. I concentrated on keeping my body horizontal to the rock and rappeled down to where Booth stood waiting.

"Welcome to the sand," he said with a sweep of his hand. "Need sun block?"

"Booth," I said. I freed myself of my gear.

"Bring it with you," he said. "We'll put it with all the rest." He cast a critical gaze over me.

"What?"

"No hat. Good call."

I smiled and reached into my pack. Rolling the straw had done little to preserve the shape, but the hat was still functional.

"You're kidding," he said as I tweaked the wide brim. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you." He put his sunglasses back on.

"I think Eddie's waiting for us," I said as I followed his example.

"Oh, he's going to love you," muttered Booth as he picked up the cooler.

"Seeley." Eddie's voice met my expectations. A definite baritone. He was a few inches taller than Booth and possessed an athletic stockiness that did not need weight training to achieve. "Good to see you again." He slapped Booth on the shoulder.

"Hey, watch it," said Booth. "I only have two." He dropped the cooler into the sand and grinned. "You look about the same. Carrying a little more here though." He backhanded Eddie's stomach. They clasped hands in greeting.

"I can take you any day," said Eddie.

Booth looked dubious. "I don't know. All brawn, no brain." He shook his head. "Always a bad combination."

"Look who's talking." Eddie glanced my way.

"Buster," said Booth. "This is Temperance Brennan."

Eddie gave me a broad smile. "So you're the one he's been talking about. I'm Eddie."

I let him engulf my hand with his own. His grip was surprisingly gentle. "I know," I said. "Booth told me."

"To call me that?"

"About not asking about your real name." I ignored Booth's dismay. "Booth calls me Bones, but you can call me Temperance." No other name seemed right to offer.

Eddie studied me for a few long moments before releasing my hand. "I like her," he said. "She's honest."

"Thank you," I said. I picked my way across the sand to the pile of gear. The newness of it all fascinated me. I picked up a regulator and turned it over in my hands. "This is all high end equipment. Do you run a dive shop?"

"I guess you could say that," said Eddie, his voice casual. "Booth says you're a good diver."

"Mostly caves, underground."

"The dangerous stuff," he said. "Booth's going to have to work hard to keep up."

I picked up an oddly configured device. "I've never seen one of these before. What does it do?"

Eddie took it from me with a quickness I hadn't suspected. "Ah, there it is," he said. He whisked it into a storage bin. "Just something I've been tinkering with."

"It looked like a gas exchange apparatus." Both men seemed to tense.

"I like to play around with gear," said Eddie. "Custom stuff."

"Expensive hobby. Dangerous if you don't know what you're doing." I noted his guarded look. "Booth plays with cars."

"Hey," said Booth. "Parker plays with cars. I restore them."

"Maybe we should look at the dive tables," said Eddie. He pulled out the charts and weighted them down on a makeshift table. "You'll love this one, Temperance. It's word of mouth only. No one's written it up yet."

And so went the day.


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Notes: **Eddie's too complicated to deal with in a lighthearted fic like this one. What Brennan knows is what we know and that's it.

* * *

**Talking About Booth  
Chapter 11**

"Here," said Booth as he moved behind me. "Let me get you started." I felt him tug on the top of my wetsuit and tried to shrink my shoulders inward to help.

"Don't rip it," I said. I had been calculating the cost of the day's expedition.

"Bones," he said. He kept his hold even as he stretched the neoprene down around my shoulders. "There. I think you're good to go."

It took a bit of wiggling to roll my wetsuit inside out as I freed my arms and torso from confinement, even more so as I tugged it over the curves of my hips. Taking a wetsuit off was easier than putting one on, but a woman's body posed its own challenge. Booth had guessed at my sizing with mixed results.

He and Eddie looked much amused. Their wetsuits lay rolled around their waists. "Good one, Bones," said Booth. "Nice technique." I had no idea how long my antics had entertained them.

"Points for style," agreed Eddie. "Hey, remember Nuke?"

A wide grin crossed Booth's face. "Yeah. I always thought a chicken could do better." He stripped the neoprene from the rest of his body with an efficiency that left me wondering.

"An old diving buddy of ours," explained Eddie. He proved equally proficient at freeing himself. "My turn to buy the beer." He began to stow away the gear. Curious about the device I had found earlier, I tried to help but he waved me away. "I got it, Temperance. Gives me a chance to check everything over."

Booth was inspecting his wetsuit for damage. "One round," he said. "Interview's tonight."

"It's only thirteen hundred," said Eddie, sounding incredulous. He checked his diving watch.

"There's the drive back," I explained. "We have a dinner reservation, but we can cancel."

"It's okay," said Eddie as Booth shook his head at me. "Next time."

It was odd to sit on the sand and do nothing as the two men packed the equipment into the storage bins. "You sure I can't help?" I found it curious that Booth knew precisely where everything went.

"Think of it as a vacation," said Eddie.

"I take vacations," I said.

Booth tucked a regulator into place. "Those are working vacations."

"I like to keep busy."

"Nothing wrong with that," said Eddie. "But a body's got to take a break now and then. Sit around and do nothing."

"I don't think I know how to do that," I said after thinking it over. "I've tried. Doesn't seem to work."

"Hey, Bones," said Booth a few minutes later.

"What?" Instinctively, I had closed my eyes and turned my face towards the sun. "What," I said again, opening my eyes when he didn't answer.

He was standing over me.

"Booth?" His body shielded me from the sun.

Sand trickled from his hand to my legs. "You're sitting on the beach, Bones." He grinned and crouched down beside me. "And you're soaking up the rays. All that radiation." He brushed away some of the grains from my skin with a light touch of his hand. "Having fun?"

"I know how to have fun," I said softly. "But yeah, Booth. This was a good idea."

He studied my face for a moment. "Good," he said and returned to his work. He and Eddie checked the webbing wrapped around each bin one last time.

"That's it," said Eddie.

"We still have to get everything up the cliff," I said. I heaved myself off the sand and took hold of a container. Eddie whisked it out my hands before I could lift it.

"We?" He frowned at Booth. "What's with the _we _business?"

"That would be you and me," said Booth. He grunted as he lifted the first bin from the ground. "Don't even think about it, Bones." He sent a stern, warning glance my way.

"Maybe she should get the beer."

"Sounds fair to me," I heard Booth say as they carried their loads away.

I stared at their retreating backs and considered my options. Eddie seemed to have a system, one he was very particular about, and I was loathed to disrupt the harmony we had established. The decision came easily. I sat back down and watched the waves dissipate along the shoreline instead.

"Division of labor usually carries significant gender bias," I noted when they came back. "Even in today's contemporary society."

"Say what?' Eddie glanced from me to Booth.

"It means she's buying," said Booth.

"I don't see any subtitles." Another two bins disappeared towards the cliff.

I pulled my towel from my pack and stretched out on it, stomach side down. The combination of sea air and the warmth against my skin made me sleepy. Laughter preceeded the men with each return trip. Comfort engulfed me as I lay with my cheeks pillowed against my arms.

"Should we throw some water on her?" I heard Eddie's voice above me as if from a distance.

"Only if you want a broken arm," said Booth. "Or leg, more likely."

"You think she can break my leg?" Amused disbelief.

"If I didn't warn you first? Oh, yeah," said Booth. "Although I've never seen her so mellow."

"California has a way of doing that. Why do you think I live here?"

"You? You think you've mellowed out?" Booth sounded amused at the idea.

"Yeah? And you're what, a by the book, FBI man? Since when do you follow rules? Can't change the past, Seeley. We are what we are."

"Better wake her up," said Booth after a moment's pause. "She'd kill us if she knew we were staring at her."

"You're staring. I'm appreciating." Eddie's voice seemed to retreat.

"Where you going? You bugging out?"

"Just giving you some space. If she's going to break a limb, better you than me."

I felt a cautious tap to my shoulder.

"Hey, Bones."

Temptation made me hesitate. I flipped a mental coin in my head.

"Bones?" This time a gentle shake.

I snaked my legs out abruptly and toppled him to the ground. Rolling over, I sent him a mock glare. He was laying flat on his back, his face a study of resignation and amusement. "How many times have I told you," I said mildly. "Don't call me that."

Eddie laughed. "I'd listen to the lady, Seeley," he said. "Names are important."

"So why don't you use yours?" The question escaped before I could think. Curiosity was a hard thing for me to suppress. I pushed myself to my feet.

Booth remained where he was. He closed his eyes, apparently sensing of doom.

"Historically speaking," I continued, "names have a great deal of tradition and meaning behind them. To deny one's name is to deny history."

"Bones." Booth's plea drifted up to me.

"No wonder you're a scientist," observed Eddie. "You like mysteries."

"I've discovered that nicknames have significance, sometimes in opposition to the things they infer." I considered his. "But not always. Other times they have contextual meaning."

"You must be smarter than I thought," he said to Booth. "You get that?"

"I'm getting better at it." Booth got up and brushed the sand from his shoulders.

"For instance, Buster can refer to a good many things," I said thoughtfully.

"She's not going to let this go, is she," said Eddie.

Booth shrugged.

Eddie walked towards me, his size imposing as he stepped into my personal space and stared down at me. I stood my ground and stared back.

"Nope," he said after studying my face. "You're not." He sighed and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

"Oh," I said as he stepped away, his gaze cautious and strangely uncertain. It took me a few moments to recall the etymology. Roman and Greek history were a major part of anthropologic studies. "It means to be a male."

"What?" Both men spoke in unison.

"Your name. It means to be a man," I said. "It's from a well-known Roman family name. It also refers to the Roman god of war."

"Man. War." Eddie nodded slowly as he absorbed the information. "I like it." A grin spread across his face. "Well, what do you know. I'm a man."

"Definitely so," I said with emphasis. I ignored their reactions and retrieved my towel. A few quick shakes and I stuffed it into my pack. The wind and waves would erase all traces of our presence. "Don't look so surprised, Booth," I said over my shoulder as I walked away. "I was just appreciating."

Eddie's laughter boomed behind me.


End file.
